


Caring is an Advantage

by Sherlock1110



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Doctor!John, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, ill!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-14
Updated: 2015-11-14
Packaged: 2018-05-01 12:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5205845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John goes away for a few weeks he leaves Sherlock to his own devices and he gets ill. Doctor John when he gets home!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caring is an Advantage

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by sherlockian4evr

Sherlock was laid out in his shared bed, not moving, just groaning occasionally. He had no idea how long he'd been there, but he felt no better than he had when he had come in from his latest case and just collapsed, spread-eagled on his bed. 

He hadn't eaten or drank more than a glass of water in days, but somehow still needed to go to the toilet. He didn't have the energy to move. He always said digestion slowed him down, but this made him realise that a lack of digestion also slowed him down. He groaned again and covered his head with John's pillow, breathing in his scent. His throat was raw and not just when he swallowed, but it was continuous. His head was throbbing so heavily, it sounded like he had his own drum kit up there and all his limbs felt like lead. 

He distantly thought of John demanding that he looked after himself before he had disappeared off to Swindon for the latest medical conference and loads of other boring medical stuff. He had so far been gone ten days and he was sure he'd said it would be for 2 weeks, but he may have deleted the actual time and replaced it with what he wanted. He had complained for weeks in advance that he didn't want his lover to go and leave him alone. John's response was 'you can come too' and it soon shut the detective up. Two weeks in Swindon, two weeks of boredom, not going to happen. 

The day after John had left, he had been pulled away from feeling sorry for himself by Lestrade and got distracted by a new case. It had lasted until what he thought was an hour ago and he was now feeling more than run down. This made him feel even sorrier for himself, almost pining for John like a lost puppy. He couldn't remember what day John had left, but he was sure he was due back on Saturday or maybe Sunday, but that was three days away! He couldn't move from bed, not that he'd tried very hard, and he was too exhausted to sleep, although that was a regular occurrence. The one difference being that he usually had John to fuck him into the mattress and let him snuggle into his chest like a toddler after and for all night long. He decided that the fact John wouldn't be back for a few days meant he could get well and pretend that he had looked after himself whilst he had been away. 

He attempted to sit up again, but gave in, collapsing back on the bed. He should probably call Molly or someone and ask what to do, say it was for a case or something. He was deep in his thoughts for excuses when a cool hand touched his forehead. He jerked in surprise, and groaned as he tried to defend himself, thrashing pointlessly at whoever it was. 

“Sherlock? Sherlock, it's only me,” John sounded panicked, trying to calm down the thrashing, groaning detective. He cracked an eye open and then moaned in annoyance at letting someone creep up on him, let alone in such a state. It was John, of course it was. John was fine. John was good. John was… Bollocks. 

“Why are you here?” He managed to croak out. 

“I live here and this is my bedroom.” John answered the obvious question with an obvious answer, if Sherlock remembered this he'd go mad. “More importantly, why are you in such a state?”

“Mm.”

He buried his head under the doctor's pillow again. 

“Sherlock, baby, come out.”

“No…”

“C'mon, doctor’s orders.”

John pulled the pillow away and threw it down the end of the bed, then he grabbed an arm and a leg and flipped him over so he was laying on his back. “Open your eyes for me, babe.”

The grey-green eyes of his boyfriend were red rimmed and bloodshot. “Oh, baby, why didn't you call me?”

“You told me to look after myself.” Sherlock's voice was a lot more gravelly than normal, rough and painful sounding.

“Is this about the case Greg phoned me about?”

“Mm.” 

He closed his eyes and threw his arm over them to hide from the bedroom light. 

“Is that why you're home early? Bloody Lestrade sticking his nose in.”

“No, he rang me last week, thought I had a shift at the clinic. He told me you were irritable or upset about something. I explained I was a few hours away and that you weren't overly pleased at me going. You could have phoned if you were upset.”

“I wasn't upset-” he broke off to make way for a coughing fit. 

“Oh you great berk. If you were ill, you should have said.”

He sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“How was Swindon anyway?” 

“Dull and I'm not home early.” He thought for a moment. “Sherlock, you do realise it's Sunday?”

“Is it? I thought it was,” cough. “Thursday.”

He pushed some sweaty curls back off his forehead. “When did you last eat?”

The detective shrugged. 

“Oh, Sherlock. You need to start looking after yourself better. When did the case finish?”

“About an hour ago.” It was a guess and John knew it. 

“Right, well stay there.” He sighed, he wasn't moving anywhere fast. “I'll make you some soup. It's all you'll be able to manage if you've just got off the case.”

***

When John came back he held a tray with a bowl of tomato soup. “Sit up, babe.”

Sherlock tried, he really did. He just didn't have the strength. The doctor placed the tray on the unit and lifted him bodily up so he could lean back against the risen pillows by the headboard. 

“I rang Greg,” he said as he placed the tray on his lap. “Do you want to know why you thought it was Thursday?”

He lifted his head and looked across at his lover. 

“Because it was Thursday when the case finished. It's taken Greg this long to write it up. So you haven't been there for an hour. More like 72. Now eat. I'm going to run you a bath. No complaining.” He held his finger up to cut off any protests. 

“Yes, John,” he said to the empty room. 

***

“You done then?” John asked from the bathroom door. 

Sherlock nodded and then raised his hand to his head. John could see his head throbbing, hypothetically speaking. He wanted to say he'd brought it on himself, but he looked so small and innocent that he couldn't let him be ill on his own and he was a doctor.

“You can have some painkillers now. I didn't want you to have the strong ones on an empty stomach.” He pulled them from his pocket and popped two into the waiting hand. He swallowed them with the glass of water that had appeared on the bedside table. 

“Now c'mon, bath.” 

The detective rolled out of bed and half walked, half stumbled to the bathroom.

John stopped him and pulled his sweaty old t-shirt over his head and threw it in the hamper. 

“In you get, little boy.”

Sherlock didn't have the energy to glare at him and actually took silent comfort in the adult figure John was presenting at the moment. It reminded him of Mycroft caring for little Sherlock when he was ill. 

The bath was lovely and warm as he settled down, back against the wall. John went about bathing him and lathering up his hair with soap. 

Sherlock looked so adorable as he sat there, his hands fidgeting with one of the soap bottles. The doctor grasped the shower head and held it over Sherlock's hair. “Close your eyes.”

When he was finished with the bath, he got the detective to stand up and wrapped him in a big fluffy bath towel. 

“Wrap your arms around my neck,” he ordered as he leant over the edge of the bath and wrapped his own arms around him. Sherlock dopily obeyed and John scooped him up, one arm under his knees, the other around his shoulders. He carried him through to the bedroom and dropped him on the bed.

“Get under the covers then.”

With heavily lidded eyes Sherlock shifted and moved underneath the duvet. John settled in next to him and held him close.

“You should be able to sleep now, baby. Just rest.”

Sherlock didn't argue just nodded. He fell asleep in moments.


End file.
